


Inarticulate

by honeydewed



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Cyrus Albright/Primrose Azelhart - Freeform, Cyrus/Primrose - Freeform, F/M, I understand I have a problem but who cares?, Is this romantic?, gestures vaguely, perhaps it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 12:58:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15461886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeydewed/pseuds/honeydewed
Summary: Cyrus finds himself speechless.





	Inarticulate

**Author's Note:**

> There's a scene in Stillsnow where if Cyrus is in your party he asks Primrose to teach him how to dance. It really hit me there that Cyrus doesn't see Primrose as a beautiful woman first, he sees her as a capable athlete and entertainer, he sees her as her own strong and individual person, and finally and only then as a beautiful woman. It really just spoke to me and I wanted to write it in a slightly more romantic light without going overboard. Again, I don't own any of the character from Octopath Traveler or the series itself. I hope you enjoy this.

He's never seen her dance before. One could surmise she's a well seasoned dancer. Cyrus could tell right away from her posture which is upright but not stiff. Her legs are powerful, muscled from movement and there's a general fluidity to her body that could make a cat envious. If he had to guess her feet might sport the occasional blister or callous but not enough to truly hinder her performances. The outfit she wore the first time they met also tipped him off. Women in the Sunlands often cover themselves in loose clothing to prevent the sun from burning their skin and overheating. It's rare to find many that walk around in the outfit Primrose sports, but it makes sense for a dancing girl to wear a bedlah.

He's seen glimpses of a dance before here and there in their travels together. The way she turns about her heel and spins spells into the movements. They're all short actions to inspire a surge of strength either in ones spirit or physical prowess. In the great library Cyrus read about spell casters that wove in the dark arts with motions similar to dancing but never believed he'd bear witness to such magic put in use. Her necklace, bangles, anklets, and belt all chime in a chorus when she walks and she walks with grace. Even before he learned of her predicament and felt moved to assist her in her dark endeavor he could tell she was no simple tavern girl. Her vocabulary and choice of words hearken in the teachings of either a fine tutor or noble person attempting to make their child well versed and prolific in speaking. Her table manners are near impeccable and he could easily picture Miss Primrose among the fine ladies that grace his academy if she were a younger girl. Primrose is quick witted and well learned of the world both from book knowledge and street smarts. The latter being something Cyrus struggles with, he's told sometimes he's so focused on a specific task he loses sight to that around him which makes him easy prey. It's a shame Primrose never set foot into the Royal Academy in Atlasdam she would have made a fine student. Perhaps once this is all over he can persuade her to further her education. One is never finished with learning after all and there's a great deal she can teach both him and others.

Primrose pirouettes in the snow. Among the falling snow that catch along her eyelashes and ponytail she moves with dignity and grace. Cyrus feels his heartbeat quicken, the palpitations garner his attention but he can't help but stare at Primrose. The way she twirls and her hair bounces, it curls and coils and she strikes various poses. It's a sultry dance but he's reminded of the ballerinas that sometimes visit the opera house and performances he watches there. Lips chapped from the cold air suck in a quiet breath and he's dumbstruck by the fact the coachman isn't moved by the movements.

His face feels flushed.

Dejected by the roadblock Primrose excuses herself anxiously clearly unfamiliar with being incapable of swaying anyone through dancing. It's freezing cold but his face feels warm, no doubt attempting to raise his body temperature in the frigid atmosphere, Cyrus hopes his nose isn't red. Primrose's dark eyes shift to greet his and he finds himself unable to speak. What can he say to her? Getting into that coach is paramount to her mission! Following it in the swirling snowstorm is out of the question, even if they managed to keep up with it nothing could guarantee they wouldn't be lost, and it's the safest way for her to travel. He wants to cast his cloak aside, his jacket feels tight. The look on Primrose's face beckons an answer, he has to say something and quick.

"You dance beautifully," his voice feels as harsh as dropping multiple volumes of books in the middle of a quiet library. Dumbfounded by his own inability to articulate what he truly means he sees confusion cloud her normally sharp eyes. Her lips look flushed from the snow, her nose also appears red and he feels a little less self conscious for it. Searching for his courage he nods towards her as he grasps her hand between his. "You were positively inspiring," she smiles and he wonders if Primrose has always looked so lovely. Encouraged to speak more he continues to fumble as the words pour out of his mouth like he's lecturing one of his students. "I wish I could dance like that, but alas..." Did he truly admit to that?

Admitting his own shortcomings in front of others is rare. He knows one of the best ways to comfort people is to either not talk about the situation or ones own problems to then lift the other up. He's certain that after speaking to her he can find the right words to say to embolden Primrose! The right words are powerful and he's sure he can formulate something to make her feel better. She turns from him only a little and he waits for her to respond to him opening up.

Primrose draws her hand towards her mouth, covering it when she laughs as a noblewoman would, "Hehe." It's such a sweet sound. He'd pay almost anything to hear it come from her mouth more often. "Two left feet," Primrose accuses. "Right?"

It appears he's not the only investigator in their group. She's a smart woman, and perhaps studies more than he gave her credit for. "I'm afraid so," it's all out on the table now. If he can perhaps bring a smile to her face he can keep her from truly giving into despair. Once one feels pity for themselves it's sometimes difficult to climb out of that slump and they have a mission to complete post haste! Drawing one hand to his breast he nods, "I dared not go to the faculty balls for fear I'd trip over some poor girl and make a fool of us both." Being proven wrong or put into his place isn't something he's adverse to but looking like a fool is something he'd rather avoid to protect his ego. Dragging an unfortunate woman with him would be ungentlemanly.

He'd grown up with the finest tutors his parents could afford. He spent night and day in the library and reading his own personal books until the pages were worn and his favorite books were battered along the edges. He lost more bookmarks than he'd like to admit and realized most of his youth and life had been spent with his nose buried within a book. He never attended parties and rarely if ever stepped away for social events. Primrose continues to look at him expectantly. "I wonder if lessons would help," he muses aloud. "Or should I simply accept who I am and stick to my tomes?"

For the first time in ages a hopeful expression blossoms across Primrose's face. The wheels in her head are visibly turning and he swallows hard. "Well," she begins slowly. Cyrus continues to hold her hand hoping to warm it. "You're probably a quick learner." As her lips move the frigid air creates clouds. "And even the clumsiest people can manage the basic steps..." it sounds like she's speaking from personal experience. "The most important thing is to enjoy the dance," she seems steadfast in that statement as if it's absolute truth. Of course! How foolish of him. He understands the basic concept of a dance, the history of various waltzes, and even some musical theory but has he ever enjoyed it? Cyrus has been surrounded by beauty his entire life: The silk skirts of fine ladies, expensive waist coats, golden plates and table settings, and of course books. Has he ever actually truly appreciate them for their art before? "And you let yourself go," Primrose closes her eyes and seems to hear the music from her heart. The gold around her neck and hanging from her ears must be horribly cold.

Snowflakes bury themselves in her dark hair. It looks like a crown of pearls strung through the locks and he's unsure if he's ever appreciated anything lovely in his life that wasn't written or illustrated before this very moment. It's been some time since he's spoken and Primrose's musings have evoked something in him. He wants to learn. "Right, right," he clears his throat. "Don't be self-conscious. Of course that makes sense." He sounds dense and like he's attempting to convince himself of what she's said to him. "It would be rather wonderful to do all those complicated steps and not think about it..." He's never done anything without thinking about it beforehand. Impulsiveness tends to be frowned upon in his field, it can work in some circumstances but a well made plan and well thought out action tends to be more his style. Primrose smiles at him. He wants to see her dance again, if he can study her body he could perhaps mimic it and watch her hips and arms. "As much as I love scholarship, I love dancing, too," he supposes bouncing around excitedly doesn't count as dancing.

"Well," Primrose studies him and he's unused to being scrutinized. "If you're that eager." She reaches out to him. Pressing her pointer finger along his chest above his heart, "I could give you some pointers."

He can't see beyond Primrose now.

He can't see the swirling snow in the air. He can't see the gruff coachman that felt lukewarm in regards her dancing. He can see her in the warm light of the lanterns. He can see the snow on her being and redness from flushing in the cold. He wonders if all women hold this charm or if it's merely Primrose. "You'd do that!?" she's too kind. "Why," to bestow knowledge onto him and be her student would be an honor. "I would be most grateful if you could!" The excitement in his voice rises just like the man made clouds from his breath. To take on a dancing dunce such as he, she truly has the patience of a saint. He's certain she'd make an excellent teacher. "Some other time though there are more pressing matters at hand," he releases her. Primrose hums in approval.

"I," he catches himself. "I believe you can do this Primrose." From what he knows of her she's a woman of action. When she sets her eyes upon a goal she'll reach it. "Shall I accompany you to the tavern? I'm sure that the barman was smitten by your performance and he'll undoubtedly aid you in your wish to board the coach," he holds his arm out for her to take. "The sooner we finish this the sooner you can teach me to dance," he quips attempting to be lighthearted for her. He's uncertain if he's good at cheering others up. Regardless of his effectiveness she takes his arm and lets him lead. There's nothing light about the deed she wishes to commit but she has her reasons. 

"I think teaching you to dance would be a pleasure," Primrose states.

Gods he feels warm. Cyrus smiles sheepishly, "I'm glad to know I have such a capable teacher." He can't think of anything else to say so they walk in silence to the tavern and hopefully towards her goal.


End file.
